


Top of the list (of the things I want)

by zanzibar



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Gene Principe - Freeform, Lake Effect Love, M/M, Showers, naps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 11:36:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6152404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zanzibar/pseuds/zanzibar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Dylan meets them in the parking lot of the restaurant.  He hugs Connor’s mom and shakes his dad’s hand.  His hair is greasy and he's wearing sweats that are too big for his skinny ass and probably belonged to Connor once upon a time and a hoodie that the pocket is ripping out of and he is honestly the best thing Connor has ever seen."</p>
<p>In which Connor McDavid plays in Buffalo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Top of the list (of the things I want)

**Author's Note:**

> This is not the epic Dylan Strome and Connor McDavid romance that I am supposedly writing. This is a distraction that ended up being much longer and much more distracting than I had planned. Thanks to the entire internet for building up Connor vs. Jack like it was their job, and Connor for scoring 2 goals and not making me feel like I had cursed him by starting this story before the game had started and the Oilers for succumbing to terrible weather and having to stay overnight in Buffalo and requiring me to write a second stanza of this business.
> 
> Title stolen from One Direction's Where Do Broken Hearts Go, because it is the song that comes before 18 and I cannot stop accidentally skipping back 2 songs instead of one and I have been listening to a lot of 18 for the aforementioned, not nearly close to completed epic story of Connor and Dylan and their Otter love.

It's not the first time he's ever put money on the board. But it's the first time it's been for something other than a win. And it's certainly the biggest number he's ever written. 

Any hope of subtlety is gone when he walks away from the whiteboard and Taylor and Gaz hoot from their stalls at the First Niagara Center. Connor throws a sock at Gaz while Davy whistles under his breath at the numbers Connor’s written.

There's 2 lines in his scrawly, cramped handwriting. One for the win and one for scoring a goal. Because Connor’s a competitive fuck just like the rest of them. And of course he wants to beat Jack Eichel. 

It feels like tempting some kind of wrath to put money on scoring a goal, but he does it anyway. He can’t actually bring himself to put extra for the game-winner, but he thinks it. In the end there’s money he’s willing to put on the board and money he’ll only put on the board of his mind. 

It’s never actually been like this for Connor. In Erie they used to have to pay for embarrassing shit like signs in the stands and being mentioned on Hockey Night and having girls waiting outside the locker room, Connor's paid for being the intermission interview and for having a scrum that lasted longer than Raddy’s shower, sometimes guys pay if they wipe out in warm-ups.

Ryan told Dylan that the Islanders have to pay if their forecheck is unsatisfactory. This does not surprise Connor. He has met John Tavares and he is legitimately frightening. The Oilers room is a little less, whatever that is, the biggest thing they’ve got right now is Taylor's obsession with the NBA and his non-stop suggestion that they eliminate the fine for the intermission interview and make whoever is last in the locker room dance. 

Connor's a really bad dancer.

So there’s money on the board. His money on the board. Money that if events transpire will add up to more than Connor really wants to think about. But it turns out that despite what everyone has said publicly, privately, on TSN, ESPN, SportsNet and probably on the worldwide leader of sports coverage on Mars, he does care, he really wants to win.

Half the Otters and his parents and the Cataldes and basically his entire support system from three years in Erie are in the stands and realistically speaking his ticket allowance is going to be a bit North of substantial for this game. 

They fly to Buffalo on Monday after the trade deadline. It’s weird not to have Schultzy and Teddy on the plane and to know there’s new guys waiting for them in Buffalo. The lines are going to be a hot mess and he’s trying valiantly not to think about it, to think about how he’s just starting to know without thinking exactly where Ebs and Poo are going to be on the ice and now Poo’s home probably with a separated shoulder and who knows who’s going to be there now.

The weather in Buffalo is terrible. But Connor lived in Erie for three years and lake-effect snow is a real-life weather condition so this is not a surprise.

He has dinner with his parents, monitoring his texts from Dylan under the table because his dad gets pissy about phones at the table and laughing when his mom has a glass and a half of wine and gets a little worked up about being on camera during the game and the reality of Connor vs. Jack, one vs. two in a cage match to the death. Connor’s forced to remind her of the time she called a penalty a “load of bullshit” and managed to yell it just as the dull roar of the crowd had quieted for a second. Her voice echoing through the entire arena like she was the announcer, instead of just someone sitting in section 102. She’s seen the video of Darnell’s dad yelling “beat his ass” during the Ottawa game so he’s pretty sure anything that she does can only rank second in terms of awesome Oiler rookie parent videos.

Dylan meets them in the parking lot of the restaurant. He hugs Connor’s mom and shakes his dad’s hand. His hair is greasy and he's wearing sweats that are too big for his skinny ass and probably belonged to Connor once upon a time and a hoodie that the pocket is ripping out of and he is honestly the best thing Connor has ever seen.

He doesn’t kiss Dylan in the parking lot, because this is still Buffalo and it isn’t like people don’t know exactly who they are. But he rides to the hotel with Dylan instead of his parents and they hold hands over the center console and it’s still really, really good.

He has a room to himself for the night, because Taylor Hall is a hero.

Taylor and Gaz know and so by extension Ebs because at this point Connor’s not sure there's anything Taylor knows that that Ebs doesn't. 

It had really been an accident when Taylor found out, because nobody planned for broken collarbones. Also because Connor called Dylan before he’d called his mom [it should be noted that someone from the team called his mom probably 14 times between when he left the ice and when Taylor picked him up at the hospital, so it wasn’t like he actually called Dylan first, he just knew that nobody had called Dylan, because nobody in Edmonton knew that Dylan was his person and as soon as someone gave him his phone back it was imperative that he talk to Dylan as soon as possible] he’d talked to Dylan all the way home and fully intended to fall asleep with him on the phone when Ebs brought him more pillows and tried to take his phone away so he could sleep and Connor had cried because Dylan was in Pennsylvania and his collarbone was broken and everything hurt. 

Conversely, narcotics make Connor stupid and he spent a good chunk of the next three days he was in bed with all the pillows in Edmonton and a freshly broken collarbone and an annoying sling telling Taylor that he loved Dylan and being hurt sucks without Dylan and also could he have a Nutella sandwich please? Taylor hadn’t done anything with those revelations other than raise an eyebrow, and he brought Connor his iPad and texted Ebs to bring Nutella when he came over.

Connor loves his roommates [and Ebs].

Gaz, kind of, maybe, has always known because Otters (forever). The guys in Erie never really didn't know, because it’s basically impossible to practice together, study together, live in each other’s pockets and ride buses all over the eastern seaboard of North America without everything becoming one giant open secret. So by the time Connor and Dylan got their shit together for real Raddy had been fake-puking in trash cans whenever they made eye contact and they had sexiled Brinksy from video game night more than twice.

But that's all OK with Connor if it means this, earlier Gaz winked at him and Taylor handed Connor his room key without question and disappeared through Ebs door without even a look back. His single, king-sized bed, room key.

They’re kissing as fast as Connor can kick the door closed. Finally, real and touchable and Connor honestly and truthfully doesn’t actually know what he wants first. He tucks his nose against Dylan’s neck, burrowing in and pressing his lips against Dylan’s pulse point and just breathing. Frantic pace forgotten for a minute in favor of just breathing together.

Dylan reaches forward to pull their hips together and Connor lifts his head so they’re kissing again, slow and dirty this time, Connor’s hands sliding down into Dylan’s back pockets and grinding their hips together, sliding into the familiar rhythm they’ve practiced and perfected together. 

"Can I," he slides his fingers into the cleft of Dylan’s ass, grinning against his lips when Dylan nods yes.

Dylan digs in his backpack and comes back with lube and a condom, stretching on his back and watching with a sly grin as Connor slicks up his fingers and tries not to be distracted by the acres of warm white skin that he’s only seen on the screen of his iPad for months. Sliding his fingers in and finding their rhythm once again, like they never stopped, never left, never lived 33 hours apart to fulfill their boyhood dreams of a game. 

He rolls on a condom and tries to ignore Dylan pinching his nippes and splaying his knees wide and generally being exactly the person who knows all of Connor’s kinks and isn’t willing to exploit them. "God, hurry up," Dylan groans, cupping his dick with a hand and rolling his eyes at Connor, caught staring, "I'm so close, just hurry up already."

Connor knees up and onto the bed and bends to rest his forehead against Dylan’s while he pushes in.

"Goddamn Daver," Dylan groans, neck arching as he adjusts to the stretch. "I missed you,” he whispers, lifting his hips to meet Connor’s thrusts. “Missed this,” he tucks his hands against Connor’s back and pulls him tight against him. 

“Jesus D,” Connor pulls out to press in again, trying to savor the wet hot clench of Dylan’s body. “I want you so much.” 

"I miss this," Dylan admits, hand wrapped around his dick, breathing through Connor’s thrusts, arching to meet him. “Miss you inside me, filling me up.” Connor slams into him, pillows sliding up against the headboard and Dylan arches one more time, groans and starts to come, spurting against his fingers and crying out, falling forward.

Dylan’s whispering in his ear now, sweet and dirty endearments, the sweat from their foreheads mixing together until he tucks his head against the side of Dylan’s neck and everything freezes and his orgasm starts from his toes, a wave of pleasure sweeping up to break against his brain, until all he can do is sink his teeth into Dylan’s shoulder and jerk minutely against the cradle of his thighs.

He rests most of his weight on Dylan, grinning when Dylan slides his fingers into Connor’s hair, breathing through the aftershocks that slide through his body and sliding their fingers together. 

When he finally rolls off and stands up his muscles protest the movement. He drags Dylan into the shower and they lean against each other and let the water rinse the worst of it off. They brush their teeth side by side and stumble back to slide under the covers and curl around each other.

In the morning Connor leaves Dylan warm and soft and naked in bed and goes to pregame skate and deflects questions about Jack Eichel from the entirety of the Canadian media and ESPN and some guys he recognizes from Erie too.

There’s so much that’s achingly familiar about getting ready for games with Dylan around. Pre-game naps with Dylan, the warm comfort of Dylan’s long body curled around him as he drops off to sleep, a hand big and heavy and tucked up and under the soft cotton of Connor’s tshirt and Dylan there when he wakes up and he’s 19 years old and he pretty much thinks about hockey and sex and eating, but he spares a moment to be thankful that he gets this too.

And then Dylan’s dropping to his knees in the shower and it’s back to hockey and sex and eating and Dylan’s frankly ridiculous enthusiasm for giving blowjobs. But when they get out of the shower Connor efficiently wraps a hotel towel around his waist and watches for a second as Dylan gives himself a series of more and more outrageous hairstyles while his hair is still wet. He presses a kiss against Dylan’s shoulder, against the mark he left earlier and Dylan looks up from his carefully sculpted fauxhawk to meet Connor’s eye in the mirror.

“Love you Davo,” he says softly.

“Love you back,” he digs his chin into Dylan’s shoulder and grins at the picture they make. “I liked the twisty, spikey things better.”

“That’s because your taste is debatable,” Dylan shakes the water from his hair and shoves his fingers through it once. Connor snorts at the insinuation as he walks out.

Dylan’s lounging on the bed when Taylor knocks on the door. Connor pulls the door open and grabs his jacket, stopping to press their lips together and groaning when Dylan pulls him in by his tie and slips him some quick tongue.

“Y’all are the worst,” Taylor yells from the door. “We’re supposed to be grownups, we can’t miss the bus.”

Connor pulls away regretfully, pressing one more quick kiss and straightening his tie as he walks toward the door.

“Davo,” Dylan calls, flopping on his stomach and flipping through the channels. Connor looks back and Dylan grins, the quicksilver grin the Connor fell in love with practically 3 years ago, “kick ass.”

“Goddamn right,” Jordan pulls the door closed and they head down to the bus.

 

The game is insane. He feels like he’s flying and when he scores 22 seconds in he looks up and sees his mom hugging his dad and people cheering, people booing and then the guys are slamming into him and Dylan’s words from earlier echo in his brain. 

He hears the collective gasp of the crowd when he picks up Jack’s rebound off the boards and accelerates through the neutral zone. He will swear later, laying easy and naked with Dylan’s head resting on his chest, that he heard Dylan specifically yell just before he tucked it five-hole, his lungs burning from practically two minutes on the ice and his heart racing just a little more whether it was really Dylan yelling “yea, yea, yea,” or just his imagination

They can’t fly out. In typical Buffalo fashion there’s fog and ice and freezing rain. Less than a year ago Connor could never imagine loving the terrible March weather that comes with living in between two inland seas, but he will love it forever if it means this. Love it forever if it means the Flames are stuck in Philly and the Oilers are taking their hotel rooms for another night in Buffalo. Because that means 12 more hours, hell eight more hours even, of Dylan. 

Dylan’s warm body in bed next to him in the morning. His sharp ankle bones and cold feet when they’re falling asleep. Connor’s parents knowing smiles when they said goodnight and Dylan’s soft grin in the dark as he’s dropping kisses along Connor’s spine, his clever fingers finding all the places that make Connor sigh and twisting to make him gasp. Lips pressing against the tender places where his gear hasn’t protected him, smoothing over bruises and tickling his sides. Dylan relearning the map of freckles across his back while Connor relearns the mind-bending combination of too-much-too-much-too-much and not even close to enough.

Dylan's plans hadn't really extended into an unexpected sleepover so he’s stuck with a backpack full of dirty clothes and nothing to wear back to Erie.

“Here,” Connor tosses Dylan a pair of boxers a T-shirt and a gray Oiler hoodie. “Take these,” he grins, “they'll have laundry for us after we play in Philly.”

His brain whites out for just a minute as he watches Dylan stand up and pull on a pair of his boring black boxer briefs, “shit, that's stupid hot.” Connor groans shoving Dylan's dirty clothes into his suitcase along with his own.

 

“Speaking of which,” Dylan plops back down on the bed to pull on his socks, “It's so hard not to tell Gene Principe that of course I expected this game from you because we took our pregame nap together and then I blew you and your mind in the shower,” Dylan grinned, “but, that would clearly be inappropriate.”

“Clearly,” Connor swallows, pulling the zipper on his bag.

“Want me to sneak out early,” Dylan’s wearing the clothes he borrowed from Connor and Connor’s tying his tie in the bathroom mirror. He leans back for a minute and Dylan raises an eyebrow. Connor knows that he doesn't mean anything by it, knows that he'll be just as happy leaving early so Connor doesn't have to answer questions about why Dylan still in Buffalo as he will if Connor says no and they wander down together. 

But Connor also knows that he doesn't want this to be a secret forever he doesn't want to live this life without a little bit of honesty. So he raises an eyebrow and pulls on his jacket, “let’s go down together.”


End file.
